Phoenix
by Kay Willow
Summary: On a seemingly innocent errand for Komui, Allen encounters a man who's been dead for four years. And Lavi is surprised to see him, too. //Chapter 3. Lavi/Allen-ish//
1. Chapter 1

**.phoenix.**

Allen had his head lowered against the cold wind that whipped at his hood and plastered his long coat to his legs. If the wind hadn't been quite so high, or quite so bitingly clear, he might not have heard the voice that carried on it -- the familiar laughter that made him stop and stand straight. It seemed to carry him away as well: back to another time, four years ago, when they had all laughed...

Although perhaps fate was not so easily avoided as a chance wisp of wind. Timcanpy, curled around his neck inside the hood of his coat, jumped at the sound and slipped out to investigate, and Allen had only to turn his head and follow the bright glimmer of gold to see the face that went with that long-unheard voice.

There was no doubt that it was him. He was tall and thin, that red mop of hair familiar even grown longer and tied back loosely at the nape of his neck, and both of his eyes were a clear, soft green, focused single-mindedly on a stout older woman. He was _Lavi_, shed of his old black leather and clad in modest daywear and a brown frock coat and a smile that could win over the oldest of souls.

And he wasn't dead.

"Impossible," Allen murmured, turning fully to see him, and then, louder, "Lavi!"

The man's head lifted slightly at the call. The nostalgic gesture of one hearing something he'd almost forgotten about, thinking back to different times. Not a gesture of recognition.

_You bloody son of a bitch,_ Allen thought, and he couldn't have said if he was amused or relieved or excited or bitter, or maybe he was all of those things and he simply couldn't have said which one he was most. _"Lavi!"_

Perhaps twice was too difficult to chalk up to coincidence. Lavi started to look around, really look around that time, but before he could catch sight of Allen in the crowd there was a streak of gold aimed straight for him. Allen could hear the stout woman gasp, "Oh! Mr. Bookman, there's a-- There's a bat!" She rose up on tiptoes, waving angrily near his head, and Lavi lifted his arms to help.

"Ah, wait, Patricia," Lavi said sharply, turning as he caught sight of Timcanpy. He lifted his arms, offering, and Tim slowly spiraled in past them to land on his head. His gaze lowered, scanning the crowd swiftly, and settled unerringly on Allen, even hidden beneath his plain black hood. His right eye was a paler green than his left. "Sorry," Allen heard him say, "but can we talk another time?"

The stout woman seemed flustered, but it was not difficult to see that Lavi's interest was elsewhere now. The moment her back was turned, Allen took one involuntary step forward, and then another, and then a flurry of quick footsteps until he was right there, in front of him, _Lavi_, but his arms would not reach out and hug him.

Lavi was still taller than he was.

"You're alive!" Allen said numbly. "Everyone said-- That when you and Bookman--"

"Yeah, about that..." Lavi said, scratching the back of his neck. "Rumors of my death may have been exaggerated."

If his arms started working, he was either going to hug the man or put a fist right in his rueful grin. "What happened? Did you-- did you fake your deaths?!"

The cold air felt all the colder when he remembered how it had been. How gentle and wounded Komui had seemed when he listed those who had died in action; the way that it felt to Allen like he had turned to stone when he heard _Bookman, Bookman Junior,_ among the fallen. All the weeks, months that it had taken to process that someone like Lavi, bright and empathetic and damaged, could simply die without altering the fundamental structure of the world. All the months that he had kept walking, half-feeling like he might be living in a different world entirely, without the tall laughing boy who had become his best friend so easily.

But that hadn't been a different world at all. Because Lavi was standing right here.

Not dead.

"That's pretty much what happened," Lavi admitted. "But... it wasn't a choice made lightly, if that's any consolation."

Maybe it was, in some way, but Allen wasn't quite ready to accept consolation yet. "Then, Bookman...?"

"Allen." Lavi was smiling, his tone mild, the same way he might have spoken to an excited child. "_I'm_ Bookman, now. I have been ever since I left the Order."

_Oh._ A stupid thing to bring up, perhaps -- even if Bookman's death had been fictitious, the little man would've been ancient, years past his ninetieth birthday, and the days when Allen would have believed Bookman invincible, indestructible, had been left behind when he was sixteen, in a somber ceremony scattering the ashes of the dead to the wind. Even if he had survived, there was no guarantee he'd have survived the last four years.

"I don't understand why," Allen murmured, lifting his arms finally, but he folded them over his chest instead. The impulse to hug his old friend had come and... mostly gone. "If Bookman did die -- and you had to become Bookman -- that's fine, okay, I understand that. But why couldn't you just _say_ so? Do you have any idea..."

He cut himself off, lips tightening into a bitter line, and then he demanded roughly, "Why go through so much trouble to fake your death? We were your _friends_, we deserved better than that!"

Lavi tossed him a bright, lying grin. "Well, maybe I knew that you'd say things like that when I told you I had to leave and forget all about everyone, and then neither of us would get anything productive done."

They stood there for a long moment, motionless on the street, except for Timcanpy, who launched himself suddenly into the air and fluttered in anxious circles overhead. Finally Allen said, "I'm a nuisance, you're saying? A relic of the past you'd rather leave behind? Then tell me to go." He tipped his head back and met Lavi's two eyes defiantly. Even his eyes had lied to him all that time.

The right eye was a pale grass green, laced with a strange pattern of silver.

Another long moment passed. The redhead rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't say I didn't _want_ you around. Just that it's not really good for my career."

_He couldn't say it._ Something inside Allen unwound, as if that simple discovery made all the years of thinking he was dead more palatable. _He thinks I'm in the way, but he still won't ask me to leave._

Dismissing those words quickly, Lavi waved, half-turning. "Hey, come with me? I was just going home to drop something off."

Allen hesitated for a heartbeat, and then nodded, smiling very slightly. They didn't move for a long moment, Lavi watching him with an unreadable expression and Allen waiting for him to lead the way.

Lavi's 'home' was a hotel room on the water, decorated with a thin pretense at personality, half-hearted decorations on the walls and furnishings, a shabby throw attempting to spruce up the back of a sofa. Allen ran gloved fingers over the fabric and imagined how unwelcoming it must feel.

It seemed like a lonely place to call home.

"Pretty funny to run into you here," Lavi was saying. "I'm actually in Newcastle on vacation. I've been a fan of Newcastle East End, you know, and so naturally I want to see how they're faring as Newcastle United. They're in the FA Cup Finals this year, and I wanted to come out, show my support for the team, you know."

"I don't much follow football. It's more Johnny's thing," Allen murmured, filing that information away. _On vacation..._ Which meant this hotel was no more 'home' than any other place he stayed for a week before taking off to the next location on his list.

Lavi emerged from the other room, disheveled now, his tie loosened and his coat hanging open at his sides. He had always been good-looking, striking in a careless sort of way, and the oddity of his mismatched eyes was even more attention-grabbing than his eyepatch; unlike Kanda's colder, symmetrical beauty, it was hard to look away from him. Allen wondered if that was really desirable for a Bookman.

"Good old Johnny." He lifted the snifter in his hand, with a small amount of brandy swirling in the bowl. It was early for that sort of drink. "You still don't drink, right? Can I offer you something else? Kids get juice." He flashed a grin.

Allen lifted his eyebrows. "I'm nineteen."

But of course Lavi, with his eternal vantage point of three years, was not impressed by this assertion. He chuckled and seated himself, taking a sip from the brandy. "So what about you?" He waved Allen to the seat across from him. "What's your business in Newcastle?"

_You,_ Allen thought, not moving for the seat. He wondered if Komui had sent him here on purpose, for exactly this reason. He wondered why he had been chosen, of everyone.

_Play hard to get,_ were his orders.

Smoothly, he said, "Komui asked me to find him a linguistic expert."

There was a brief silence, in which Allen did not look at Lavi, and Lavi did not look _too_ interested. Finally curiosity overcame his affectations, and the young Bookman asked casually, "Oh yeah? What's he got -- an instruction manual for the Ark, only it's tragically in Swahili?"

"You're half right," Allen said.

He waited again. It didn't take as long this time; Lavi recovered quicker, laughing. "You're not going to make me pry it out of you one question at a time, are you, sprout?"

It was still reflex to snap _It's Allen_, but he restrained himself, instead pointing out dryly, "Even your insults are four years out of date. Kanda stopped thinking that was funny when I got to be his height."

"Still not my height, though! Anyhow, they say the old ones are the good ones."

He sounded blithe, but his attention was very subtly caught. Despite his joking, he was waiting almost impatiently for more information. Allen smiled slightly and indulged him. "The Order recently took control of a dig site from an ancient society. I'm not too clear on the details. We found a series of scrolls in a stone vault, and no one can read them... But Bak and Komui have managed to identify the word 'machine' throughout the scrolls, and they believe it refers to the Ark."

Lavi looked down, swirling the brandy in his glass thoughtfully. Allen watched him, the cogs turning almost visibly in his head. "...how ancient, exactly?"

"Somewhere around three thousand years old, I believe."

That was the thing about bookish types, Allen decided. They spent so much of their time reading and learning that they couldn't really _stop_. He'd seen it in the Science Department, in Nalei, and in Lavi.

He wouldn't be able to pass up the chance to play with such a rare new toy.

Allen had to spare a moment to admire Komui's plan.

"You know," Lavi suggested, as if it had just occurred to him. "Technically, I'm pretty good with ancient languages. Maybe I could help."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. In fact, I've seen most of the existing writing from that era." Lavi tapped his temple pointedly. "Lemme guess. Was it in... Jordan?"

He seemed very certain of himself. Allen smiled brightly and said, "I don't know," and kept smiling as Lavi deflated, wind stolen from his sails. "I only visit the excavation site through the Ark. It could be on the moon, for all I know."

Lavi shook his head, taking another sip of his brandy. "If you came here to find a linguist, you must have something of the language to show to him. I could help you out if you let me see it."

Timcanpy took flight, hovering behind Allen anxiously as if recognizing his cue, but Allen tilted his head, deliberating. "I'm not supposed to show it to anyone until they've agreed to do the work..."

"That doesn't apply to _me_, come on!" Lavi got up and sauntered across the room to sling an arm casually over Allen's shoulders. "Am I your friend, or am I your friend?"

_Only you know the answer to that,_ Allen thought, gaze slipping away. "I suppose it isn't too big a deal," he relented, and Tim responded with more joyous fluttering, circling the room to a blank wall and then opening wide to project a visual recording onto its bland white surface. Lavi broke away immediately to edge up to it, eyes going wide.

It wasn't all that interesting a recording. A schizophrenic viewpoint on the excavation site, wildly swinging back and forth over the cavernous ceiling, and then down to a cluster of heads that Lavi might recognize from the back as the remnants of the Science Department; some more zig-zagging ensued before Tim managed to get around them to peer at the scrolls. He focused in on the text, affording a clear, if shaky, view of the symbols, and hands pointing at a few of them, Komui's tinny voice excitedly explaining why he thought the scrolls must be discussing the Ark.

"Yeah, your site is in Jordan," Lavi said, very vague and distant. "That's a form of Canaanite that I've only seen once, in Deir Alla. I can definitely help them decipher these. That is-- if we're ready to admit that there's no linguist in Newcastle who'd know anything about Deir Alla."

Allen made a face. Perhaps he hadn't been as subtle as he'd thought. "Sorry. But it got you interested anyway, right?" he prodded, smiling

Timcanpy's recording ended abruptly, and he fluttered up and away. Lavi didn't move, still staring at the wall where the scrolls had been, and Allen imagined him running over the perfect imprint of their text in his mind, until Lavi said slowly, "You don't hate it?"

"_Hate_ it? Hate what?" Allen lifted his eyebrows, curious. Hate was such a strong word, and he didn't like using it. Hating people was childish. Hating things was foolish. Even during the war, he hadn't _hated_ the akuma or the Noah.

"...Having to work with me."

Allen felt his eyes widen, surprised. He took a step closer to Lavi, quickly saying, "Of course I don't hate it. You're my friend, and I'd have given anything to have you back, all this time. If I've said anything to make you feel otherwise..."

"I can't believe you'd still want to see me," Lavi said, shaking his head sharply. He wasn't looking at Allen. "After I let you think I was dead for five years."

"Four," Allen corrected.

"Four years, seven months, and three days." The redhead closed his eyes, so he missed Allen's surprised start. "You should've left me behind ages ago. If you resented me, or yelled at me, I'd totally respect that."

Half an hour ago, he might have guilted Allen into silence. He had wondered, himself, if he should resent Lavi, thought about railing at him with all the futile frustration of learning that he'd been lied to for the last few years of his life. He was _so tired_ of lies.

But when Allen had given him the chance, Lavi hadn't been able to tell him to leave. He'd all but admitted that he'd only left because he didn't see any other choice.

That was all he needed to know. "I don't give up on anyone," Allen said, simple.

Lavi's green eyes met his gray, and that hung in the air between them, meanings filling the lingering silence. He hoped Lavi could hear it as well as he could: _I haven't given up on you._

Then Lavi tossed him a bright smile, surreal in its sudden good cheer. "Then I guess you should take me to your leader," he said. "But I'm not missing the FA Cup Finals, not even for Deir Alla."

Allen reached out to the Ark and opened a door for them to HQ, bypassing the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**.smoldering.**

His first day of work after returning to the Order was pretty tame. It was spent inside a tent on the outskirts of the dig site with a half-dozen members of Komui's science department, all of whom had welcomed him with open arms and then ushered him impatiently over to the ornate chest that contained the scrolls. It was a new experience, working with that many faces eagerly peering over his shoulder.

Normally, Bookman worked alone.

When he returned to HQ after a full eight hours' work (which he hadn't done in... ever) he took the time to just wander the hallways. He could find every repainted wall, every new set of curtains, every hydrangea in the garden that had been planted to replace one that had died.

He'd never thought he'd be back here, and in retrospect, he'd never thought he'd be so easily convinced. It hadn't really been about the scrolls.

Komui had chosen his messenger boy with almost ruthless calculation. Pretty admirable, really.

Crowley found him while he was wandering the garden. "_Lavi!_" he cried, swooping down to bury the younger man in a smothering embrace. "You really came back! It is so good to see you, after so long...!"

He was almost in tears. The Bookman choked for a beat and prompted him, "Actually -- I don't go by Lavi anymore."

"Oh... yes, of course." Crowley drew back, dabbing at his eyes delicately with a kerchief and sniffling. "I apologize. Komui told us that we should call you Bookman now. I suppose I forgot in my -- excitement. I was so happy to learn you were alive-- Very sorry."

"It's okay." He laughed, easily. "The name doesn't offend me or anything, it's just way out of date."

It was intended to reassure Crowley, but instead it only made him hunch in on himself slightly more, and murmur, "I suppose that -- all of my memories are long out of date. It has been quite some time, and you have likely changed a great deal..."

"Memories never go out of date," Bookman told him, and winked. Being unable to wink noticeably was the worst part of wearing that eyepatch for the better part of thirteen years. "Your memories aren't less valid now, you know. They all happened, they're all real. And I'm still the same guy!" He assumed a charming smile to prove it.

If anyone's memories were out of date, it was his. His records. Allen had instructed him seriously, _Please don't say anything to make Crowley self-conscious. He has a new girlfriend, and... I think he's still uncomfortable with it._

Crowley had a new girlfriend. Would a single mention of Eliade bring him to tears? If he were asked about his love life, would he admit to seeing another woman, or would he cover it up like some shameful secret?

Bookman was the one out of date.

The delicate strains of a harp enticed him to the lounge long after he should have been asleep, and he was extremely surprised to find that the musician in question was Miranda, her eyes closed and her fingers working the strings with unexpected deftness, the harp cradled in the folds of her sweeping dress. Marie was on the couch across from her, smiling to himself, but his head turned up at the newcomer's entrance.

"Lavi," the Austrian said, and corrected himself as Miranda opened her eyes: "Bookman."

"That's what they call me," he said cheerfully, moving further into the room. "Hey, guys! Let me have a hug."

Flustered, Miranda rose to her feet, but she was smiling. That was invitation enough for him; he took the last steps over and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing gently.

"I didn't know you could play the harp," he said, teasing. "You're a woman of many talents."

"Marie showed me how," she said, glancing back over her shoulder at the big man.

He pulled away from her and held out a hand to Marie, grinning. "I guess it's harder to play with two iron fingers, huh?"

Marie chuckled lightly and held up his left hand, demonstrating the two metal fingers, and curling them down into a fist. He took Bookman's hand with his right and shook it, almost as warm as the smile he was wearing. "Someone ought to make use of the instruments in here, and Miranda's been wanting to learn."

"I'm terrible at memorizing, though. I always forget what I'm playing by the end," she said fretfully, and Marie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The tension eased out of her like magic, and she smiled up at him.

They were so -- intimate. "Speaking of lovebirds," he said dryly, flustering Miranda again. "I read about the wedding in the paper, and I'm sorry I couldn't make it! Didja get my gift?"

"You sent a gift?" Miranda asked, blankly. Marie picked up the clue quickly, musing, "The anonymous pocket watch?"

"That was me!" he confirmed, pleased.

"Oh!" Miranda said, her hands clasping together. "It was a beautiful watch, La-- Bookman. Marie still carries it with him."

"We would have sent you a thank-you card, but..." Marie shrugged, rueful.

Of course, even if they'd known who it was, or that he was alive, they wouldn't have known where to send it. He waved, dismissing the concern. "Hey, Bookmen don't need cards! Or else we'd have a permanent address, right?"

They didn't talk about the fact that they'd believed him dead for four years. Instead, they talked about Miranda's music hobby -- probably the only new development in anyone's personal lives that Allen _hadn't_ passed on, from Chaozii and his friends moving back to China to General Nine's fine new husband to Link's lessons in Hebrew -- and Link didn't even live with the Order.

Of course, Allen had probably had his fill of music long ago. And all the Exorcists had had their fill of death.

The next day at work he was rather surprised to find Kanda in the excavation tent, arms folded and staring distantly out at the dreary skies around the dig site. It was going to rain: both outside, judging by the menacing clouds, and inside, judging by Kanda's menacing expression.

He'd never been possessed of much in the way of survival instincts. Bookman skipped the scrolls temporarily to go over to him and exclaim, "Kanda! I was sure that you were dead or dying! You mean you just didn't come to see me when I arrived? That really hurts, buddy."

"I'm not your _buddy_," Kanda said, not looking at him. "Do your work, Bookman. I'm doing mine."

It figured that Kanda was the only one who didn't need to be reminded that Lavi wasn't and had never been his name. "This is your work?" He glanced around.

Kanda was standing at the tent flap staring outside, and the scientists were going about their own work, and no one seemed to be doing anything that involved Kanda.

"...what exactly is it you're supposed to be doing?"

The Japanese man sighed irritably and said, "I'm guarding the excavation site." His tone added, _Obviously._

Bookman almost winced. "How... exciting. That doesn't sound like Kanda-style work at all. You should be out there exploring the underground ruins! Fighting off raiders! That sort of thing. I think you're being mismanaged, Yuu."

"Don't call me that."

He waited for further elaboration, but none was forthcoming. Slowly he relaxed, and asked, "What is this, some sort of punishment? I'm pretty sure you didn't volunteer to come here and babysit these nerds." Johnny's voice from behind him called out that he was one of 'these nerds' but he ignored that obviously biased complaint.

But it was obvious that, given the choice, Kanda would have avoided him for the duration of his stay with the Order. He was okay with that, and after all, why shouldn't Kanda avoid him? He'd faked his own death, the man must've severed all ties with him years ago. But there had to be some reason he was here against his will.

Kanda said, flatly, "I normally am stationed at the excavation site. I traded shifts with Lenalee."

...so the one who was really avoiding him was Lenalee.

That was good to know.

That evening they worked late, and she came around the excavation tents with coffee for the scientists. Something inside her visibly froze when she saw Lavi, saw him watching her, but she continued refilling everyone's cups.

"Why, hello there, stranger! With milk, please," he said to her, smiling. She did not smile back, and did not say anything at all. The milk did not mask the bitter taste of the coffee.

He ate dinner alone that night, taking his tray out to the balcony and curling up on a chair, watching the people pass by beneath him thoughtfully while he ate. There were fewer people here now than there had been in days gone by... The heroic cause that had once united people here, dozens of Exorcists and hundreds of Finders and scientists maintaining the last bastion against the Earl's threat, no longer had any meaning. Chaozii was long gone. Toma and Goz were gone. Even River was gone, he'd discovered, to his inexplicable disappointment.

All of the people who lived here were people that he would have been content to never see again. He had the memories of them, perfect captures of every moment of every day he'd spent with them. Any time he wanted to remember, he could call them up and relive them as if they'd happened yesterday. The memories made him smile when he was bored.

While he'd let his guard down, they'd become his friends. But they hadn't made him _need_ friends. He had been able to cherish those memories without missing them, or wishing things could have been different.

He heard Allen approach before he saw him, and he lifted his gaze to grin at him before the younger man could say anything. Allen matched it, of course.

"I was wondering if I could join you for dinner," Allen said mildly, lifting his tray, laden with a dozen dishes heaped high with food.

"Sure, sure. I don't have any particular fondness for eating alone." He reached out and grabbed a table, hauling it a little closer so that Allen could sit with him. "Are you on a diet or something? That's such a moderate amount of food for you."

Allen laughed. "Well, the science department says it's natural that my appetite should slow down, since I'm not growing anymore."

For all that, he still had a pretty impressive mountain of meats and breads, easily ten times what a normal person would eat. Bookman admired it distantly, and sipped at his tea. Allen always made him feel as if he ate like a bird.

"How's your work with the scrolls coming?" the younger man asked him, selecting a plate to devour first.

"Good, good. It's hard work without a Rosetta Stone, but with the few words we can decipher and the knowledge of the language I already possess, I'm making progress on deciphering the writing system, which you totally don't care about," he concluded, watching Allen. There might have been less food to get through, but Allen set himself to it with the same single-minded intensity.

Allen made a vague, wordless sound through his mouthful, to indicate that he was in fact listening before he had a chance to finish chewing and swallow. Then he asked with a smile, "Do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it." Bookman stretched leisurely, careful with his tea. "It's easy, interesting application of knowledge. If I didn't love it, I'd be in a different line of work."

He expected that comment to be met with typical approval -- no one ever concerned themselves with other people's happiness more than Allen -- but instead Allen smiled, half to himself and a little sadly. "I forget sometimes. There's so much more to you than a guy who sits in libraries or laboratories all the time... When I think of Lavi, it's never about how incredibly smart you are."

It never even occurred to him that _Lavi_ wasn't really his name.

Reflexively, he laughed and managed, "You think I'm _smart_? Please. I know a lot of shit. There's a big difference!"

Allen argued with him. That was the thing about Allen: without even trying he brushed past the surface of things, saw deep and held fast, and he accepted his judgments unconditionally. It made it hard to keep him at arm's length, when before you knew it and without your permission or even awareness he was under your skin.

All of this time, he'd been avoiding thinking of Allen. The memories were there, perfect captures just like he had of everyone else, but the truth of the matter was that it wasn't the same, looking back. It wasn't enough.

The memories of those warm smiles only made him wish he could have them again.

When he finally noticed that Allen was still calling him _Lavi_, he shrugged it off. It couldn't hurt to be Allen's Lavi, until he had to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

**.simmering.**

A deafening cheer went up as the ball slammed into the net, and everyone flew to their feet. Allen heard himself laughing a little as he applauded the goal. The game was almost over, and the odds were very slim that Newcastle United was going to make a big enough comeback to win, but everyone still seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. Even Lavi, who should have known better than to think that his team would pull through, was making a fuss.

Allen sat back down when the others did, smiling to himself, and he caught Lavi watching him. The redhead pointed out, "You seem much more relaxed now."

"I think I'm getting used to the crowd," Allen said, louder than he might normally have because a more confidential volume would have been swallowed in the sounds that surrounded them.

As an Exorcist, this stadium would have been a living nightmare. Any one of these people could be an akuma -- an akuma in this crowd could do incredible damage before it could be managed -- damage done by the akuma could mean more tragedy down the line, more akuma -- and Allen had worn his coat with the rose cross on the breast... It had taken until now, virtually the end of the game, before he was able to fully overcome that reflexive edge of suspicion that he felt around crowds, even knowing that those threats had been ended years ago.

"You, not used to crowds? Mr. Circus himself?"

Allen laughed. "At the circus, we were lucky to get two hundred people in a night -- much less a hundred times that."

Lavi tossed him a little smirk and then turned to survey the stadium thoughtfully. "A hundred and fifty times that," he corrected. "St. James Park has a seating capacity of thirty thousand, and we're nearly at capacity now."

He paused, and waited patiently. Allen did not oblige him. After a few beats, Lavi prompted, "Aren't you going to ask?"

"Nearly at capacity?" Allen asked, as bored as he could manage while still speaking loudly.

"We're seven hundred eighty-six short," Lavi said easily.

_Show-off,_ Allen thought, but he was impressed in spite of himself.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Allen turned around as the little girl behind him said, "Hey, grandpa, I dropped my pennant--" She stopped short as she got a good look at his face, and Allen ducked his head to look for it. "You're not a grandpa," she said, almost accusingly.

"Merry!" scolded her father, scandalized, but the scene stopped abruptly as another goal was scored and the crowd erupted, leaping again from their seats; the little girl snatched her red-and-white pennant from Allen's hand without so much as a glance at him, hopping up and down and waving it fiercely and cheering.

_People and their football,_ he thought. Sports made him feel very distinct from the rest of humanity. Even Lavi was hooting, and he was supposed to _be_ distinct from the rest of humanity.

Unfortunately, when Lavi came down from his excitement, he turned a smirk on Allen that confirmed that he had heard that exchange. "I hope leaning down wasn't too hard on your back, grandpa," he said innocently.

Allen scowled at the redhead. "You're older than me, as you've been so proud of."

"That was before I realized the potential level of mockery in pretending you're an old man." Lavi smiled, beatific.

Allen flipped his hood up.

Perhaps Lavi could recognize a sensitive topic when he saw one, because when they skipped out on St. James Park (after Newcastle's loss, before the riot) he offered to treat Allen to dinner. It was a very generous offer, considering that being Bookman didn't pay very well and Allen was capable of eating his life savings. They settled on Lavi treating to dessert instead.

It had been a pleasant outing, he thought. Football was Johnny's sport, and when Lavi had asked him to come, Allen had agreed mostly out of civility. He'd fought for the privilege to come -- elbowing his way past Section Chief Bak, who had some theory to test on the Ark that no one approved of -- but he hadn't really expected to enjoy himself. Yet somehow, despite the crowds and the deafening volume and the threat of anarchy once the mob was released from their thrall, it had turned out to be... pleasant.

Lavi was pleasant company.

"So, spill about you and Lenalee," Lavi said, toying with his spoon.

Allen paused for a moment, wondering if he'd misheard somehow. "Spill what?" he asked, gears already turning. Who would have told Lavi something ridiculous? ...Johnny.

"Johnny said you two are attached at the hip. So, spill. What's the deal?" Lavi leaned forward, his eyes avid, exaggerating as usual.

_Johnny._ Allen sighed and shook his head. "There is no deal. He's seeing something where there isn't anything. Lenalee and I are just friends, and we hardly even see each other, at that -- probably not even an hour a day. I'd hardly describe that as attached at the hip."

Lavi tilted his head, and said slyly, "An hour a day... What about at night~?"

"Probably zero hours at night," Allen said dryly. He glanced around very warily, searching for recorders or spies, and then leaned in closer to whisper, "You didn't hear this from me, but Lenalee and Kanda are trying something."

"Wow!" Lavi said, leaning back. He seemed visibly impressed, and as if he had no grasp of subtlety at all. "He finally said something."

"_She_ said something," Allen corrected.

The redhead chuckled. "Man, that is just -- too bad. Someone like Lenalee, wasted on some prick like Kanda."

_When did he stop calling Kanda by his given name?_ Allen wondered, but he stopped wondering as Lavi gave him a long, thoughtful look, his pale eye somehow mesmerizing. Then all he could think was, _How does the Bookman remain discreet when that one eye is so arresting? I can't stop looking at it. No wonder old Bookman wore all that distracting eye make-up,_ not for the first time.

"That's a shame," Lavi said, noncommittal but quiet. "You liked her, right?"

Allen leaned back in his seat. Lavi fit back into his life so easily -- in the week that he'd been at the Order, it had rapidly begun to seem like he'd never left at all. Everyone was relaxed around him now, and with the exception of Lenalee (and maybe Kanda, but who could tell?) they all seemed to have welcomed him home.

But he had been gone for years.

"That was a long time ago," Allen said mildly. "I'm glad that she's with someone who makes her happy, even though I haven't the faintest idea how _Kanda_ makes anyone happy. I take her word for it."

Lavi's eyebrows swept up. "But if she weren't with Kanda. Would you make a move?"

"I already made a move."

"You-- Seriously?"

Allen felt his lips curve up, pleased for some reason to have caught Lavi so off-guard. "I asked her, a little while back. She said she didn't feel that way about me."

He'd taken the chance, been rebuffed, and bounced back. Lavi couldn't possibly find any flaw in that. Lenalee was a wonderful person, and Allen had always thought (and still did) that she was incredibly cute. But he wasn't desperate.

Finally, Lavi said, "Man, that's criminal. The two of you would've been the most adorable couple in the world." He took a long drink, and then set the glass back down. "If she did feel that way, though -- you think the two of you would be happy?"

Why was he still asking? Allen frowned, considering him. If the topic _had_ been difficult for him, wouldn't this persistent inquiry be hurtful? "But she doesn't."

"But if she _did_."

"But she doesn't," Allen repeated, calm. His eyes met and stayed on Lavi's, attempting to impress this truth somewhere in his logical brain. "And that makes all the difference. I don't want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me."

He was never _again_ going to be dependent on someone who didn't care about him as much as he did about them. Never again going to let his world be turned upside-down for someone who wouldn't do the same for him. He'd had enough of disappointment for one lifetime. Several lifetimes, even.

Slowly, Lavi smiled ruefully, and glanced down at the table -- his empty glass, and the half dozen empty plates in front of Allen. "Yeah, okay. I got it. You're not even considering that sort of thing anymore."

_Close enough,_ Allen decided, but he smiled back. "Ready to go?" he asked.

They headed outside together and down into an alley, so that no one would notice them when Allen called up the Ark. He still had a deep connection to it, even years later, and running over the tune in his mind was all it took to create and open a door, regardless of distance.

So he ran over the tune in his mind, and he knew immediately that it hadn't worked.

He thought a second time, and waited patiently for that sense of rightness -- the solid _click_ that was only inside his head that meant the door had moved into place. It didn't come.

Allen gave Lavi a self-conscious glance over his shoulder; Lavi looked bemused but still waited patiently. Allen turned back and hummed the melody aloud instead, hoping it would make his control over the Ark stronger. Still, no response.

_Section Chief Bak!_ Allen thought, stiffening. That idiot must have actually gotten past his opponents and taken something apart.

The Ark wasn't working, and HQ was half the country away.

Allen rubbed behind his ear, awkward. "You don't happen to have any money on you, do you?"

"You bankrupted me eating dessert," Lavi pointed out.

"And I don't have enough to get us both to London," Allen mused, and ignored Lavi's alarm, sizing him up thoughtfully. ...he smiled. "Have you ever considered using that memory of yours to play poker?"


End file.
